Pizza Delivery
by msarahv
Summary: Dean is freaking cold. And the customer is taking his sweet time to come collect his pizza.


Dean was done. He was coming back to his work place and quit right away. There was no way he was going to find another job this late in the year and he really needed the money to survive but in this moment, walking against the treacherous wind, feeling his fingers turn to mush, he decided he couldn't go on. It had been four deliveries in a row, on the crappy red scooter that he was forced to use (he had argued that he could use his cool as hell car instead but his boss was a jerk) even though a turtle would have been faster. And the uniform was a joke. He was used to wearing good old flannel, but it wouldn't fit under the red shirt, so he had found a wool undershirt in a thrift shop and wore it in shame. Nobody would see it as the customers barely gave him a glance after he had handed them their pizza, and somehow, he was too weary to try and flirt with the hot ones. He also didn't go out on his days off because he was too tired plus he did all the chores to let Sammy study in peace.

The thought of his brother made his decision waver. He couldn't quit, not really, for Sam's sake. It was ok, he would just chop his fingers tip and carry the pizza over his stump. And no, he wasn't a drama queen.

* * *

He checked the address, wondering once more why the name rang a bell. Then suddenly, it hit him. It was Trench Coat Guy.

He was so used to calling him that (well mostly it was Hot Trench Coat Guy) in his mind that he hadn't connected the dots. The man came every week, on the same day, at the same time, you could set your watch to him. He never ordered the same pizza, though so Dean couldn't tell the staff to prepare it in advance. He would have liked it, daydreaming about the look of surprise on the man's face.

But it seemed like tonight, Cas-ti-eel (how the fuck did you pronounce that?) was acting all crazy. It wasn't the right day, for once, and he had asked for a delivery. Which was fine for Dean, he would still see him. On the other hand, he would kill to be at the counter right now. In the too warm pizza place, just a few feet from the oven. Heaven.

* * *

He walked briskly to the apartment complex and looked for the door phone. It was a digital one where you had to press the arrows to see the names. Of course, another way of wasting freezing time standing outside. He hated his job.

There were no first name, and Cas-ti... something, hadn't given the last one. It would be wildly unprofessional to call just anyone and ask them in, so he tried to remember if the man had mentioned it before.

Novak, that sounded familiar. Dean took the risk and pressed the button. He waited.

And waited.

He was about to go through the list again, feeling so cold he thought he would die here, when he heard a deep voice grumbling:

"What is it about?"

Yes, that was him, all right. The only part of Dean that was still warm reacted to the sound like it always did. Maybe this guy's job was to answer hot lines phone calls? It was doubtful, seeing how nerdy he looked, but Dean had a good imagination.

"Pizza delivery for a Cas-tee-eel?"

There was a chuckle. A God-forsaken chuckle. Dean snapped:

"Did I say something funny?"

"It's pronounced Cas-tee-el. I like your accent by the way. Are you from Texas?"

Dean was dancing from one foot to the other:

"Kansas. And while you're laughing at me, I'm freezing my ass off here. So could you, fucking please buzz me in?"

He must have sounded desperate. Well, he was. He couldn't even tame his hair, what with holding the pizza and, you know, not feeling his hands any more.

* * *

The gravely voice answered:

"I'll be right down."

Great. He had counted on coming inside. It would have save said freezing ass, plus he was curious about Cas' place. Sue him.

The pizza was getting less and less hot and, still, the door remained closed. Dean hated the guy now. Next time he would come to the shop, he would snub him. Write down the wrong order. Something. Not lose himself in his blue-as-fuck eyes.

Or not.

* * *

He was contemplating opening the box and eating a slice, just to warm himself up, when finally, fiiinallllly, Castiel was in front of him. Dean felt self-conscious as hell, but he still couldn't help the shivers and the teeth clattering.

He was about to dryly ask for the money but Castiel wasn't looking at him. He had something in his hands and... was he blushing?

"I thought you could use this. It is indeed very cold."

He handed Dean two small packets. They exchanged what they held and Dean understood the second he got the things.

Hand warmers.

The guy was a saint. No, he was an angel.

"Wow, thanks. This is really... thoughtful" he finished lamely. 'Awesome' wouldn't have cut it.

"You're welcome. So, how much do I owe you."

"Nothing, it's on the house."

"Oh no, I insist on paying."

Dean's faith in humanity was heating its way up at the same time his hands did:

"Seriously, man, you've just saved me. I was about to quit my job but now, I'll manage."

Cas was pouting:

"Oh, no, you shouldn't quit your job. I always look forward to seeing you. I didn't know you did deliveries too."

He handed Dean a twenty dollar bill:

"Would this cover it? I'm not very good at calculating tips."

'Yeah, man, it's good. But really, you don't have to."

* * *

The door was still open. Cas was wearing a light sweater and thin pants. He was the one who was going to die and then Dean's life wouldn't be worth living (the return of the drama queen. He was pathetic).

But he could make conversation, couldn't it, now that he had his fingers back?

"So, what's the occasion? You usually order pizza on Fridays."

"Oh" Cas looked taken aback. Dean was a creep, it was official. "I'm celebrating my brother's graduation in fact."

"Oh, cool."

They stayed there, staring at each other's soul for a minute, then Dean shook himself and said:

"You'd better go upstairs or your pizza will be stone cold. Thanks again for the hand warmers, and..."

"Can I have your phone number?"

Dean frowned. This didn't make sense.

"Uhh, don't you have it already? I mean, you kind of called us to order?"

Castiel fidgeted with the box. He breathed out:

"Your personal cell phone number... If I may be so bold?"

Ohhh.

* * *

Turns out freezing to your death had its advantages. A few weeks later, Dean was promoted to manager and let others do deliveries (he didn't add hand warmers to the budget, for every employee, now, shuddup). And Cas never came back to the shop after that. He just waited for Dean to join him with whatever pizza they had left and they had their now-Friday date.


End file.
